Protégé
by breeeliss
Summary: How peculiar. An Earthbender. A remarkably talented one. Surely, this could be to my advantage. And hers, if she's the character I predict she'll be. Supernatural AU. Koh-centric. Pro-bending Circuit Season 2 Submission.


**Title:** Protégé

 **Words:** 3455

 **Summary:** How peculiar. An Earthbender. A remarkably talented one. Surely, this could be to my advantage. And hers, if she's the character I predict she'll be. Supernatural AU. Koh-centric. Pro-bending Circuit Season 2 Submission.

 **a/n:** Round 4 submission for Season 2 of the Pro-bending Circuit. I thought I'd play around with the Taang-Kummi theory in this story and write a little supernatural AU based off of it. You all should read up on it purely for its creative value.

Essentially, Avatar Kuruk's love — Ummi — had her face stolen by Koh as punishment for Kuruk's lackadaisical ways. But many ATLA fans theorize that Toph is Ummi reincarnated. Interesting, wouldn't you say?

 **Task:** Write a story under the **supernatural** genre

 **Prompts:** (word) fairy; (smell) blood; (restriction) First Person POV

 **Bonus:** Include the element fire in the story

 **OOO**

 _Protégé_

 **OOO**

Mortals are horribly impressionable, narrow-sighted things, really.

Not a thought for forces bigger than they, nor any capacity to be able to understand them.

How easy it is for them to look upon frightening power and call it malevolent in others — and greatness in themselves. Greatness fueled only by selfishness, gratification, and foolishness.

I've told Mother for centuries the dangers of gifting one human being astronomical abilities. Humans can't possibly be trusted with such power. But the Avatar is balance. The Avatar is fairness. The Avatar is goodness. Whosoever would propose differently risks upending the cosmic balance of the universe.

It served that Water Tribe Avatar right to lose something important to him. Giving an immature imbecile such responsibilities was a celestial foul up. But look how quickly one can turn around when something so precious to you is suddenly no more. Seeing the woman you love dead by your feet as punishment for you incapabilities is such a potent motivator indeed.

Still…

Such a simple girl. So young. Honest, righteous, if a little too unwary. Objectively, rather undeserving of death. Mother had been quite livid over seeing her as a recent addition to my collection. Mother had apparently worked hard on that one. Made her beautiful. Made her expressive. Made her _mean_ something. Apparently I took it away for naught. If only she knew…

Though, perhaps, the girl's potential was snubbed out a little too quickly.

Her life force should be in the process of being reincarnated right about now. A second chance often given to mortals whose potentials were cut abruptly due to no fault of their own.

Potential…

Mother is rarely right about anything. If she can gift potential through awarding mortals their guises, who is to say I cannot also gift potential through taking those guises away? Mother is too self-important. Let her see for once that I too can produce something of worth.

 **..**

 **..**

It seems as if a pitying spirit has decided to gift the barren Beifong wife with a child after all. A reincarnated child, no less. How touching.

Though how amusing: from a poor Water Tribe peasant to a rich Earth Kingdom heiress. Reincarnation truly is impartial.

She's born small for her age — inky hair, dazzling eyes, fair skin. All the physical attributes necessary to become a docile, obedient wife and heiress of the richest family in the mortal world. A fortunate girl indeed.

Oh...how peculiar. An Earthbender as well. A remarkably talented one. Though surely, this could be to my advantage. And hers, if she's the character I predict she'll be.

Cursing humans is tricky business. It never quite manifests in the way one would think. It's almost a sort of celestial symbolism that oftentimes spirits themselves cannot pretend to completely understand. It isn't ever something I have ever bothered with, but wouldn't it be curious to see how The Face Stealer's curse would manifest in a human?

It isn't immediate, but as the days pass, the girl's eyes grow dull. The emerald orbs gloss over with a film, and her penchant for turning her head to stare at everything that moves ceases almost just as quickly. Her mother and father come to gift her with toys, dresses, and other useless human adornments — only to dissolve into screams and cries when they notice she cannot see a single one.

Ah. Blindness. How apt.

The inability to see her own face, and the faces of others. A crude mirror of my abilities, but quite fitting. Poetic, almost.

A blind Earthbender with latent talent in droves.

Mother is a fool. This girl will be the embodiment of potential.

 **..**

 **..**

It's almost a shame that there would be no sense in stealing the girl's face.

A blind face is useless to my collection, ironically enough. Killing her would also prevent me from finally showing up Mother and all her haughtiness. No, no, it wouldn't do any good. She is an investment, after all. One that would be horribly tedious to replace. One would be foolish to waste good fortune.

Still...it _is_ rather disappointing. Such a beautiful, charming face on such a small little girl. It'd slip off her skin so easily. Like prying apart a rose...

She's inherited Ummi's beauty, that is for certain. Though mischief certainly lies close to the surface. And pride — so much untapped pride. Cockiness. Independence. Outspokenness. A natural proclivity for confrontation and an uncanny disregard for convention. It will all come with time, I imagine.

Although who would have predicted that the girl's family would prove problematic?

My proximity to the girl is a necessary evil — one cannot be expected to maintain their investments from the Spirit World. The Mortal Realm is a terribly vapid place to spend time — although intriguing in its own strange sense — but having the girl die over something ridiculous would be a waste of my time.

But my form can never attain true corporeality in the Mortal Realm. I dwell in swirling shadows, the oppressive dark corners of this looming mansion, the sounds of my footsteps like pearls skittering across the wooden floors. To humans, I imagine I appear as nothing more than a specter — a flash of movement in the corner of one's eye that no one can properly name or explain. A specter that a dull toddler often laughs at, grabs at, even talks at. Rather pitiful, to be honest. The girl has no one to talk to in this looming mansion other than the skittering shadows she can't even see. Selfish humans.

But I suppose when humans see other humans talking to shadows and invisible footsteps, it's cause for worry.

The girl's parents allowed a legion of spiritual healers — hah! — to ascertain the girl's condition. Cursed. Damned. Haunted. Possessed. Oh, the diagnoses went on.

But the girl was prohibited from leaving the mansion. The staff was doubled to survey her at all hours. She was left in her room or at the mercy of her tutors for much of her days. Abandoned in the furthest wing of the mansion where servants were scared to enter for fear of seeing the demonic presence that permanently stalked the family's youngest daughter.

The whispers were hard to ignore. Demonic child. Doomed child. Wicked child.

Not quite the environment conducive to breeding a child to greatness….how perplexing.

 **..**

 **..**

One day, she barges into her room — all small stomping feet and slamming doors — as she throws a biwa into the corner of the room, the stringed instrument shrieking in protest.

"They won't let me learn more!" she winds up shouting at nothing. "I asked them and they won't let me learn more! Told me to practice my instruments instead!"

At times, I cannot help but pity her the way I pity most humans. Seven years old and the thing is still taken with talking at things she cannot see. Lonely girls make friends of devils when they're locked in towers, I suppose. Still, the pathetic little thing is close to tears and I am nothing if not an opportunist.

The fire in the hearth casts dark shadows on the ceiling, and I speak to her from them. "They are afraid of you getting hurt." She crawls closer to the fire, closer to my voice. "But they're afraid of _you_ as well."

She frowns. "Afraid of me?"

"Of course," I continue. My feet click across the hearth, and her head follows the sounds. "A lovely girl like you with company such as myself, why I fear they think you malevolent."

Her head cocks to the side. "Malevolent?"

Stupid child. "Evil, my dear. _Bad._ "

The connection isn't made, and she opens her mouth once more. "But I'm not bad. Why can't I learn more? I can do more! I know I can!"

"Of course you can, darling," I tell her, mimicking the compassion these idiotic parents of hers are meant to be showing their child. "I know this better than you. But humans are stubborn creatures. Unable to see viewpoints other than their own. I fear there is little point in changing their minds…"

I suspected the girl had some resentment towards her parents, albeit for shallow reasons such as not being able to do the things she wanted. But it is an opening that I can't possibly resist. To build up resentment and turn it into an outright rebellion — rebellion that can leave room for growth. For greatness. For years, the girl has been hindered in a way that has been impossible for me to work past.

She ponders this, but doesn't seem as if she is heeding the words. She silently holds a hand out, her hand incredibly close to the flames. "You're hot."

I crawl further down the heart, making sure my voice sounds directly in front of her. "It is merely the fire, my dear. I assure you."

She nibbles on her lips and asks, "Are _you_ bad?"

I wonder for a moment if she thinks that I am — a dark voice coming from the flames in the fireplace. I answer honestly. "You needn't fear me, darling. I'm here to help."

"Help how?" she frowns.

So innocent — bright, wide eyes, like a fairy plucked from those books the servants read her. She has no idea who she is. Who she will become. But I intend to fix that, and watch Mother squirm when the deed is finally done.

"If you'll permit me, I'll let you in on a little secret," I tell her, watching the beads of sweat drip down her temples from the proximity to the fire. "Suppose there were teachers outside of this house...teachers that could help you learn more."

It isn't clear if her eyes show fear or fascination — if she's justifiably wary or idiotically trusting. "But I can't leave the house."

If she is willing to heed the advice of those far wiser than she, I suppose she can't be completely dim witted. "I believe I could show you a way out. If you'll let me."

Humans were never quite equipped to properly teach mastery over the elements. It's been perverted over time, certain subtleties lost in translation, and unfortunately many humans possess an almost crude mastery over their respective martial arts. All the more reason to hold no sympathy for them…

But badgermoles — ah, the original Earthbenders and the only ones with any proper sense of the art. Would they not be the ideal teachers for a blind, cursed human meant to achieve greatness? Meant to defy all that she was born for? The human product of The Face Stealer quite possibly becoming the greatest bender of her generation?

She doesn't disappoint, and all of her mortal vapidness seems to disappear once one merely observes her in her natural element — taking to the art just as easily as I expected her to. All of that potential bubbles close to the surface, and she seems to have unlimited supplies of it. All while blind, no less.

Faces do not create greatness, originality, and potential. My gift to her will not cripple her. It will help her become greater than anyone else could have even fathomed. Ummi's potential will not have been _ripped_ away as Mother seems to think, foolish woman. No, that potential will be reborn with my tutelage. Reborn in the form of this small girl. This small girl who will become a legend if she continues as she is. _My_ legend.

 **..**

 **..**

At twelve years old, I dared call her a master. Such a small girl with such power was unheard of until now. She was perfection.

But, as always, humans always find a way to completely disappoint

"So this is what you've done? Turned yourself into a fighter, have you?"

The girl has the nerve to scoff in my direction. She speaks directly at me, most probably comforted by the empty locker room. "Is that a problem?"

The lamps lighting the locker room flicker for a moment before they steady as I slither into the shadows in the corner of the room. "A waste, actually."

Just as when she was a child, nothing seems to faze her. Completely unaffected. She merely removed the bending uniform she had donned and brushes the dirt and bruises covering her legs.

As perfect as she was, she was still just as incredibly stupid as she was when she was still a child. She had decided to turn herself into a fighting celebrity instead of something of worth — a hermit that crawls underneath the Earth to soak up praise and publicity by throwing rocks at other novice, dimwitted Earthbenders. At the end of the day, she is only human, and her pride and cockiness have morphed into a sort of self-absorption that is everything but endearing. In fact, I can almost call it sickening. The same sort of qualities that idiot Water Tribe Avatar had. Too interested in treating life as joyride instead of utilizing one's gifts for something _useful_.

This wasn't what she was meant for.

"I actually think it's pretty damn cool," she replies in defiance. "Tomorrow, I'll get my third championship belt. Nice and heavy. Made of _gold_. I think that's pretty valuable."

"Treating bending as a spectacle." Ridiculous.

She laughs once more. "It's time like these where your Spirit World arrogance shows through. You're not that different from rich humans. My parents are almost just as arrogant. You're quite the match…"

"You dare compare me to you humans?" I snarl at her.

The wall of the locker room opens up with a mere flick of her wrist, and she begins to traverse the dark tunnel for a secret escape from the arena, as she is privy to do. "You're not all that different. The snobbishness is a dead giveaway. You talk just like Dad does…"

Insolent little girl. "You watch your tongue. You seem to forget who it is who hides in your shadow."

I surround her. This dark tunnel does little to hinder her ability to see through her bending, but the shadows are everywhere, and my voice amplifies the small space. However, true to her temperament, she laughs as if she is in no danger at all. "I haven't, actually. They say I'm cursed."

'They' being anyone who spends anytime near the child. Her family is still constantly walking eggshells around the girl, and the whispers among the other competitors in this primitive fighting arena speak of an otherworldly quality about the bender. As if she were insubstantial. As if there were something about her that wasn't quite human. It's all merely rumor. She is very much human. However, my presence has always caused a miasma of fear to surround her — one strong enough to keep most people away. "You _are_ cursed," I remind her.

She hums and turns her head towards my voice. "More like haunted. Did you know that there's always this awful stench of blood when you're near? And that sometimes, the room gets really cold or really warm all of a sudden with no explanation? That's not me. That's all you. My blindness isn't a curse. Your presence is."

Hm. "Blood, you say?"

"I smell it now," she admits to me. "Like someone cut a body open." She shrugs. "Not that I mind, necessarily. It keeps my mother away, which is nice. She can't stand the smell of blood," she laughs at her mother's expense. "Makes her want to retch every time she comes near me."

"How fortunate."

She reaches the end of the tunnel and opens up the tunnel into the bright night. "Do you mean me any harm?" she asks suddenly.

It would do to make her afraid of me so she can start taking her role in the world seriously. But, the girl would be unbothered by either answer, so truthfulness wouldn't necessarily hurt. "At the moment, no."

"Hm. That's pretty boring isn't it?"

"You really are a stupid girl. No sense of self preservation. You're fortunate you're talented. You have nothing else."

She cracks the joints in her neck and laughs boisterously into the night, my shadows skittering around her as if she truly were made out of something ethereal — not quite real. "People with self preservation are too scared to do anything crazy." She turns to me and smirks as if she were merely talking to a maid or an adoring fan. "What good is that?"

"Foolish girl," I say. "You're very young. It shows."

It's while she is crossing a bridge and heading towards the large hill where he house is located that she asks, "Why are you here? Can I get rid of you?"

I can't help from laughing. "You have no idea how to talk to spirits far more powerful than you, do you?"

"You don't mean me any harm," she explains. "What's the point in holding back questions?"

I disappear into her shadow cast by the moon, and my voice bellows up from her feet. "I wronged you in a past life," I admit carefully. "I will take responsibility for that. Although I will not pretend your death wasn't beneficial."

"Guilt seems like a strange reason," she drawls.

"Oh, I assure you, guilt is not an emotion I possess," I tell her. "But a particularly meddlesome spirit condemned me for it. Explained my powers are nothing but a perversion. An abomination. Things that can never bring greatness. So I thought...what if they _could_?" I crawl in front of her, leering. "What if a little girl toting about the Face Stealer's Curse — of all things — could become one of the greatest humans this generation has ever seen?"

She smiles bitterly. "Ah. So this isn't for me. This is for you."

"I'm not a philanthropic spirit, my dear. That is a sentiment reserved for other kinder spirits. I am merely here until your greatness is fully discovered."

Her face looks affronted, as if I've offended. "I'm not great yet?"

"Hardly, considering your celebrity status. That isn't greatness. It's popularity. Two very different things."

She turns with a snarl. "Is nothing good enough for you? You really _do_ remind me of my family."

I decide to ignore the snub, not bothering to explain to her the true distaste I have for such comments. "You have potential not yet realized. Unfortunately, it won't be realized remaining in this dull cesspit of a city."

She laughs. "You didn't have to tell me that. Tell me something I don't know."

"Loathed as I am to say this," I begin. "It seems as if the Avatar, strangely enough, would be worth introducing yourself to. His past lives may have been unimpressive, but I do not begrudge reincarnations."

Her eyebrows raise. "Those rumors are true, then?"

"Most definitely. His return was rather unexpected."

She stops as her mansion looms in front of her. "I don't have an interest in meeting the Avatar. He's not my problem."

"You'll find he soon will be."

There isn't any clarity when it comes to the future. Even spirits cannot truly predict future events. The fickle nature of mortals ensures this. However, the stars do not lie, and it becomes very obvious that this girl's destiny is once again intimately intertwined with the Avatar's. Incarnations are funny that way. The way souls and energies and destinies are woven are complex, but oftentimes easy to comprehend once one puts in the effort. It seems as if the Avatar will not have truly lost his love. Perhaps he shall find her in a new form — a new role.

Such sentimentalities mean nothing to me, of course. Whether they are reunited is of no consequence. But the Avatar will help her realize how much value she truly has — past competing in ridiculous competitions for fifteen minutes of fame. Let her grow with him. Let her learn from him. And let her legacy be solidified in history, knowing full well that it was I who made her that way.

Let mother feel ridiculous once the girl fulfills her potential.

Toph Beifong lifts her chin and walks proudly. "Will you finally disappear? Once I meet the Avatar, I mean."

I answer her promptly. "I will disappear when you are no longer of use to me. That will happen when you are fully realized. How quickly you do that is entirely up to you."

She pauses, sighs, and continues on through the gap in the gates of her home, sneaking back in before her curfew. "Just you wait, you sick freak," she declares. "I'll surpass whatever screwed up expectations you have for me. I always will."


End file.
